


Cuisses

by savedby



Series: Bold in Gold [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Families of Choice, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 13:15:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11105325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savedby/pseuds/savedby
Summary: 'the AU where biznasty and mike richards hold down their fourth line, be "veteran leadership"/team dads and end up as endgame'or,Biz comes out of retirement and Richie gets another chance





	Cuisses

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justanotherfacet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justanotherfacet/gifts).



> Much thanks to justanotherfacet for suggesting this idea in the comments to [Sabaton](http://archiveofourown.org/comments/106913076). I hope this is what you meant!
> 
> All my love for Dell for looking this over and being always on-board with my dumbass ideas. 
> 
> Is this the second Golden Knights fic on this website?

 

 

Paul is done. 

 

He's retired, he's got himself a brand, and enough money to live comfortably until he's old and wrinkly, or until he dies from some concussion related symptom, which seems more likely-

 

So when his phone rings with an unfamiliar number with a Vegas area code, his first thought is panic. It's surprisingly not the first time someone had stuck him with their gambling debt (Giroux is a sneaky bastard sometimes).

 

He does eventually answer though.

 

"Hello, this is Gerard Gallant," Gerard Gallant says.

 

"Yes," Paul says.

 

"We were wondering if-"

 

"Yes," Paul says.

 

He's not sure exactly what he's agreeing to, but five minutes later, he's booking himself a flight to Vegas and frantically googling an exercise routine that'll reverse all the pizza he's eaten in the last couple of weeks.

 

 

*

 

 

Unbeknown to him, in Kenora, Ontario, Mike Richards is looking through those exact exercise routines.

 

 

*

 

 

Paul doesn’t know about Richie until he runs into him in the Golden Knights offices. Presumably their signings are the best kept secret in the hockey world at that point. That, or nobody cares. 

 

Paul’s feeling good. He’s made the PR staff around him laugh twice already, and he’s on his way to sign another NHL contract, for a team he might actually play for.

 

Seeing Richie’s surprised face across the conference room is just the icing on the cake.

 

The two of them aren’t close, exactly, but they’re familiar enough that Paul feels comfortable reaching out for a hug instead of a handshake. Richie is smaller than he remembers, but he gives good hugs.

 

“Veteran presence in the house!” Paul says after they separate and Richie laughs.

 

“Good to see you, Biz,” Richie says, grinning, fiddling with his pair of sunglasses, “are you the talented winger they promised me?”

 

“I don’t know about talented,” Paul says, which gets him more laughter from the staff in the room, “but I’m all yours.”

 

It comes out more suggestive than he intended, but Richie takes it in stride. “I guess we’re ready for a Cup run then.”

 

They sit down to sign their contracts, bumping elbows, as Gerard Gallant beams at them across the table.

 

There’s a brief moment of doubt, as Paul is staring at his name printed under the dotted line, where he asks himself if he’s really going to be signing up for another year of disappointment and crippling injuries. But then Richie chirps him about him penmanship and he snaps out of it.

 

After that, things start happening really quickly.

 

They get their jerseys, still smelling of fresh print, and Paul’s head spins a little, seeing his name and his number in blue and gold.

 

“Richie can put it on first, he’ll need more time to fix his hair afterward,” he says and Richie sticks his tongue at him from where he’s pulling on his jersey. 

 

“Biz doesn’t need to spend any time on his hair, because he’s balding,” Richie announces as Paul puts on his jersey, and Paul is so entangled in the fabric that he can’t even think of a good response.

 

Next is the press conference, which features a surprisingly large crowd of journalists. But then again, it’s summer, must be a slow news day.

 

Paul sits patiently through a few questions directed at Richie, including one about his possession charges that leaves Richie visibly shaken up.

 

Then another journalist raises his hand. “What do you think you still have to offer to a NHL team?”

 

The tone of it is challenging and Paul can see out of the corner of his eye that Richie’s hackles are up. He cuts in as smoothly as he can.

 

“I’d like to see Richie and I become mentors to these kids,” he says, preening as the attention of the room switches to him, “since Vegas is going to be a home away from home for them, we hope to be sort of like their father figures.”

 

Paul hears Richie withholding laughter next to him and it almost makes him break.

 

“In fact,” Paul continues, “we’ve decided that Richie would like to be called ‘Papa’, while I’ll be ‘Dad’. Daddy is acceptable, but,” he winks at the journalists, “only under special circumstances.”

 

By then, most of the room is laughing, and Paul sits back, satisfied. He looks over at Richie who mouths ‘Papa?’ at him, but Paul just grins, shrugging.

 

 

*

 

 

The official Golden Knights twitter account immediately starts referring to them as Papa and Dad. They’ve got shirts printed and selling within two days. 

 

It’s kind of amazing. 

 

Paul sends the social media department a nice fruit basket.

 

 

*

 

 

He and Richie get an apartment together, because living in Vegas is expensive and the Knights aren’t paying them all that much.

 

The last person that Paul had seen bleary eyed and half naked in the mornings had been his ex-girlfriend, so seeing Richie shirtless and cussing out the coffee machine is a bit of an adjustment. 

 

The half-naked part definitely helps.

 

“What are you staring at,” Richie snaps at him, because okay, apparently he’s grumpy in the mornings. 

 

Paul leans on the counter, crosses his arms and waits. He’s sleepy too, and his mouth feels like something died in it, but this moment feels important.

 

Richie lets out a few more curse words, before his shoulders slump in defeat.

 

“This stupid thing won’t work,” he mutters, almost plaintively, and Paul decides he won’t tell him that it’s because he hasn’t plugged it in.

 

“Let’s go get breakfast somewhere,” Paul says instead.

 

“What?”

 

“Is there a Timmies in Las Vegas, you think?” Paul asks, uncrossing his arms, because despite popular belief he actually isn’t an asshole and Richie’s had a rough couple of years.

 

Richie looks completely thrown. “I don’t think so?” he says.

 

“We’ll find something,” Paul says dismissively, “just put on a shirt and we’ll go.”

 

They find a small cafe at the end of their street. Their waitress is nice and the omelets are fluffy, and they spend the meal in uneasy silence. Richie doesn’t order the coffee, sips on some orange juice instead, and doesn’t speak a word to Paul until the last dredges of the orange pulp are gone from the glass and their plates are empty.

 

“I’m not some sort of addict, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Richie says, his tone almost challenging, but avoiding Paul’s eyes.

 

“I’ve never thought that, man,” Paul says, as gently as he knows how.

 

“Oh,” Richie blinks, “I thought...never mind.”

 

“Yeah,” Paul nods, feeling a little awkward. The situation is more emotional than he can usually handle before 11am. “So, are we going to the gym today or what?”

 

And that’s the end of that.

 

 

*

 

 

Management gets the whole roster together sometime in July for a photo op in their new jerseys. 

 

It’s not an impressive sight, the five of them and their steps echoing in the large locker room, but Paul applies himself to what he does best - lightening the mood.

 

“Okay, just making sure you guys know that you have to refer to Richie here as ‘Papa’ and to me as ‘Dad’,” Paul says, as Richie starts quietly laughing into his padding, “you can also call me ‘Mom’ if you really want to, but don’t do it around any journos because I have a reputation to maintain.”

 

“Oh,” Reid Duke says, looking confused, “wait, that was for real? I thought you were joking!”

 

At this point there are choking sounds coming from Richie’s direction and Paul has to make use of his best poker face.

 

“Of course it was for real, son,” he says, sternly, “this is just how we do things in the NHL.”

 

Reid seems to look at Shipachyov for help, but the Russian is engrossed in his equipment, so he ends up nodding slowly. “Okay...Dad.”

 

Paul beams at him. Then he turns to Shipachyov expectantly. 

 

“Shippy!” he says, and Shipachyov just blinks at him. It’s kind of creepy how he looks like a teenager even if he’s almost Paul’s age. “What do you say?”

 

There’s a long moment of silence. Then Shipachyov grins wide enough to show all his teeth. 

 

“Sure, Dad,” he says and Paul lets out a high-pitched delighted noise. 

 

Tomas Hyka is watching all of this unfold with obvious confusion. Paul frowns at him for a moment.

 

“How good is your English?” he asks. Hyka stares back, seemingly uncomprehending. 

 

Paul hums under his breath and whips out his phone, inputting the phrase into Google Translate, translating it to Czech.

 

However, as soon as he shows it to Hyka, his face turns horrified.

 

Hyka opens his mouth, and in perfect French, asks, “You want to fuck my father up the ass?”

 

Richie collapses to the floor, laughing so hard he’s convulsing.

 

 

*

 

 

“We should probably go out, celebrate our contracts or something,” Paul says, but he sounds half-hearted even to himself. “There’s so many casinos I’m not banned from yet.”

 

“Sure,” Richie says, from where his face is smushed against Paul’s bicep, “in a minute.”

 

A minute later, he’s snoring. Paul laughs under his breath, then lays his head on top of Richie’s hair and falls asleep too.

 

Bag skates at practice really take a lot out of you.

 

 

*

 

 

The Golden Knights lose their first game of the season. They lose the second one too. After that, they settle into a comfortable pattern of average results that keeps the fans somewhat interested and the pundits busy.

 

Paul doesn’t get that many minutes, but that was actually something he expected. He knows that the organization was always primarily interested in his brand and online influence, so he does his best with what he has. He livetweets the games on the bench a few times, before the NHL get annoyed and ban that, and after that, he does it by miming them instead. The crowd loves it.

 

 

*

 

 

Not all things are sunshine and roses in Vegas, though. 

 

Hyka often pretends to not understand English to stick others with uncomfortable interviews, even though Paul knows very well that he’s fluent in three languages. 

 

Reid has a crush on Shippy that’s visible from space, which is awkward, because Paul is pretty sure Shippy is actually married. So in nine scenarios out of ten, the kid is setting himself up for a world of pain. And Paul actually likes him, so he runs interference on him when they get drunk. 

 

It means listening to drunken odes about Shippy’s eyes, and how dark and handsome and perfect he is, but sometimes you’ve got to take one for the team. 

 

As for Richie, well. He presses Paul up against the door of their fridge sometime late October. Paul drops the carton of orange juice he’s holding on the floor and it’s all sticky there for the two weeks until they manage to hire an actual maid. 

 

So, there’s that.

 

 

*

 

 

Paul is just finishing up an impromptu twitter Q&A, when he notices Richie dozing off, cuddled up with Arnold and Dexter. He takes a photo and posts it on twitter, turns the notifications off when his mentions practically explode from the cuteness.

 

He’s not proud of himself, but he sets the photo as his phone background. 

 

 

*

 

 

The Golden Knights’ performances improve in the second half of the season, in large part due to Richie finding his scoring touch. It’s probably not enough to get them to the playoffs, but it’s enough to snag Richie an interview on Cabbie Presents, where they go fishing in one of the fake lakes behind the Hilton hotel.

 

“So, Mike, this magical renaissance, does it have anything to do with a certain winger?” Cabbie asks, after they accidentally drop the fishing pole into the water.

 

And Richie, very sincerely and very embarrassingly, says, “A lot of this season’s success is down to Biz and his support. He’s been amazing for me.”

 

Paul contributes to at least half of the views the clip has on youtube. 

 

 

*

 

 

It’s on one of his monthly searches through the Hockey RPF tag on Archive of Our Own that Paul finally spots it. 

 

The summary says: ‘Paul Bissonnette/Mike Richards, fake dating’ and it’s 20k long. He spends at least fifteen minutes just staring at the link.

 

Then Richie comes home with the dogs, and Paul slams his laptop shut so violently he breaks it.

 

 

*

 

 

The end of the season brings the end of Paul’s contract. Meaning, he doesn’t have an excuse to hang out around Vegas anymore.

 

“Well, I guess, I don’t have an excuse to hang out around Vegas anymore,” Paul says.

 

Richie frowns at him.

 

“You’re a dumbass,” he says, and well, he’s not wrong.

 

 

*

 

 

“Hey, Biz?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Will you be my boyfri-”

 

“Yes.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Notes  
> \- [an article about Richie's possession charges](http://www.thespec.com/sports-story/6121899-mike-richards-mysterious-fall-from-the-top-of-the-nhl/)  
> \- there's no Tim Hortons in Las Vegas. I checked.  
> \- Tomas Hyka played for two seasons for the Gatineau Olympiques in the QMJHL. I don't know about his proficiency in French, I just thought it would be funny  
> \- I'm still tentatively promising to write a fic for every Golden Knight that gets signed. This is technically Hyka's, even if he barely gets mentioned  
> \- I hope that sometime in his career, someone called Vadim 'Shippy'  
> \- who's gonna write me that fake dating fic  
> \- My [tumblr](http://muzzmurray.tumblr.com/). Tell me all about who your favorite Golden Knights are. You've got three to choose from now.


End file.
